


The Interviews

by thebratqueen



Series: Post Ep 4 Fics [3]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batman: The Telltale Series (Video Game)
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Author does not pretend this represents a fully healthy relationship, Canon-Typical Violence, First Time, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Romance, Rough Sex, Same Stitch rewrite, Sex, The Author Regrets Nothing, Trigger Warning for POV of character with delusions and paranoia, vigilante joker
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-04
Updated: 2019-04-29
Packaged: 2019-05-02 06:14:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14538453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebratqueen/pseuds/thebratqueen
Summary: "What the hell is up with Doe?""I know I'm asking a lot. I know he hasn't had a chance to make a good first or second impression with you.""Well my impression is he'spsychoso - "





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Because why NOT rewrite Same Stitch with the idea of [what if Bruce had told John his feelings not long after the incident at the bridge](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13651749)? I don't have anything else to do, right?
> 
> Heed the trigger warnings in the tags, please. Scenes from John's perspective will represent his mental state, which might not be good for those who are vulnerable to a POV that has paranoia and delusions in it. I'd rather spoil what's to come than take the risk on somebody being messed up when it happens. Hence the tags which are for the story as a whole. 
> 
> Much thanks to airawyn for brainstorming ideas and KTNB for the beta. As always mistakes are mine.

Excerpts from " _The Bisexual Billionaire: Bruce Wayne Bares All About Finding Love in Unlikely Places, a Gotham Herald Exclusive!_ " by Gina Williams.

 

> Bruce Wayne is expertly chopsticking bacon fried rice into his mouth when I walk into his office at Wayne Enterprises. He apologizes " - never enough time in the day for lunch - " and offers to buy me my own bowl so I can join him. It's from one of the food trucks parked in front of the building. In addition to the bacon and jasmine rice, there's scallions, sesame seeds, miso citrus slaw, siracha lime sauce, and a sunny side up egg.
> 
> I tell him the offer is appreciated, but I already had a salad for lunch before I came. Grilled chicken on top of romaine and carrots, mixed with balsamic vinaigrette.
> 
> No judgment is meant in my reply, but Wayne looks guilty anyway: a five year old caught with his hand in the cookie jar. "I know I should eat better. It's probably a choice, right? I can sit behind a desk all day or have all the bacon I want, but - " he makes a seesaw motion, chopsticks in one hand, rice bowl in the other. He finishes the gesture by taking another mouthful of rice; perhaps indicating his inability to choose, perhaps showing his hope to have his bacon and eat it too.
> 
> It's understandable that Wayne would cling to both his desk and his comfort food, considering recent events.
> 
> "I don't mind telling you I was scared out of my mind," Wayne says, when I broach the subject. "I was glad I could help in some way, but hopefully I never have to do anything like that ever again. God bless the men and women of the GCPD who put their lives on the line like that every day. I couldn't do it."
> 
> By now most in Gotham are familiar with the tale. The Agency, while tracking a deadly biological weapon, reached out to John Doe for assistance. Doe, a former patient of Arkham Asylum, had a relationship with Dr. Harleen Quinzel, herself the leader of the gang attempting to steal the weapon. This relationship made Doe the perfect candidate to go undercover in Quinzel's group to gather information and try to thwart their crime.
> 
> Upon discovering Quinzel's desire to use WayneTech to aid in her crimes, the Agency reached out to Bruce Wayne to join Doe undercover and help their cause.
> 
> "I wanted to do the right thing," Wayne says. "Was I terrified? Absolutely. But I wanted to help. Especially once they told me John was involved. In hindsight that was probably a clue."
> 
> Wayne and Doe had met during Wayne's brief stint at Arkham over a year ago. Their friendship enabled the two to secretly team up to navigate the world of deadly criminals, espionage, and government intelligence maneuvers which ultimately required Doe to be placed on the Most Wanted List as a cover for activities which are still listed as classified.
> 
> It's enough to make a blockbuster movie out of. That movie would be missing a key storyline, however: a romance.
> 
> "I went into it thinking of John as a friend," Wayne says. "A close friend, but a friend. As we worked together and I saw how brave he was - especially on the bridge when he was the only one who managed to get the virus away from Harley - I fell. I fell hard."
> 
> But who made the first move? The first confession? Did the first night go as well as the rumors say?
> 
> "I kissed him," Wayne replies. "For confessions all credit should go to John. He doesn't hold anything back. I'm still trying to learn from him. As for the first night? That's a long story."

* * *

"It's an actual cave? With actual bats? This is _so cool!"_

John's enthusiasm echoed off of the stone walls of the cave, making bats chitter and shift positions in the shadows above. Bruce let them all do as they pleased, focusing instead on parking the car on the roundtable.

It was late, even for someone who kept Batman's hours. After determining that he and John were… well, that Bruce wasn't going to give John up under any definition of the phrase, there'd been planning. John needed to gather his things, and Nora needed to be taken care of.

The latter had proven tricky as Bruce tried to figure out a way to get Nora to a safe location without tipping off the Agency. He had a place in mind, one of many of his around Gotham which were owned through so many shell corporations that they couldn't be traced back to him - useful, for hiding things related to Batman. But getting Nora there was another question entirely.

"I, uh, I know some people who could help," John offered. "Frank and Willy from the Stacked Deck. They'd do a favor for me."

"You trust them with this?" Bruce asked.

"I assume we're not asking them to drop Nora off at a building with the bat symbol on it, right?" John said. "We're only trusting them to move her where we need? Then yeah, absolutely. They're friends of mine. They'll do it."

Bruce frowned. "Wait, isn't Willy the guy I beat up?"

John's expression was one of both patience and amusement. "I never said he was a friend of _yours_ , Bruce."

Trusting John once again paid off, leaving Nora at a safe location and Bruce and John free to move to a safer location of their own.

"Which came first?" John asked as he hopped out of the car. "You or the bats?"

"The bats," Bruce said. He got out at a more sedate pace, taking his time as he popped the trunk where they'd put John's bags and the container which held the virus. "I've got something of an agreement with them now."

John titled his head, studying Bruce. "Like literally or - ?"

"There's mutual respect," Bruce said. "Not literal conversations."

"Oh." John pursed his lips as he thought that over. "Well you're still cool in my book, even if you don't talk to bats."

"Did you think I did before?"

"I don't know what you can do!" John spread his arms wide. "You're awesome! Maybe you can do everything."

"Not everything," Bruce said. He tried not to think about the many things he'd failed at doing that week - that _day_ \- alone. The dead bodies. The chaos. No, he couldn't do everything. He only wanted to.

"Hey." John was in front of him. Bruce hadn't noticed him move. John tugged at a button on Bruce's shirt, worry in his green eyes. "You okay in there, Bats?"

Bruce was used to saying that he was fine. He had many versions of that answer that he could give, all for various scenarios: him as the playboy, the businessman, the beaten up vigilante trying to convince Alfred the wounds weren't as bad as they looked. Every version a facade built over years of practice and learning that nobody wanted or needed to know the real him.

But this was John.

Bruce didn't have words for an honest reply, so he went with a gesture instead. He slipped his arms around John's waist and pulled him close, holding him and feeling the warm, solid presence of him.

"Hey, buddy," John said, his voice soft. He wrapped his arms around Bruce's shoulders, hugging him tight. "It's okay. Whatever it is. I'll help you make it okay."

Amazingly, Bruce felt himself smile. "I know you will."

He indulged himself with a kiss on John's lips - meant to be a peck but it lasted longer - then made himself pull away. "Come on. We have business to take care of."

John pouted. "Aren't you your own boss? What's the use of that if you can't set your own hours or time for smooching?"

"I'm warning you now vigilante hours suck," Bruce told him. "If you're still set on that - "

"Oh I _am_."

" - be prepared to lose a lot of sleep." Bruce took the container holding the virus out of the trunk. "As for the rest, our personal lives can't always take higher priority. Case in point, this."

Bruce opened the container and removed the vial inside. He held it out to John. "Here. This needs to be destroyed. Since you were the one who saved the city from it, I think you should have the honor."

"Me?" John reached out, hesitantly, then took the vial with both hands. "Why? No, I mean, you said why. I mean why destroy it? I'll do it if you want me to, I just want to know."

Bruce motioned for John to follow him over to the device he'd rigged to neutralize the virus. "It's dangerous. As long as that exists it can be used as a weapon. I don't want it in my city."

"But what about a cure?" John asked. He turned the vial over in his hands. "Shouldn't somebody good hang on to it if a sample is needed for a cure?"

John had a point, and it was something Bruce had already considered. However for Bruce it could be boiled down to one reason. "The Agency wants this. Let's make sure they never get it."

" _That_ I can agree with." John followed Bruce and inserted the vial where Bruce indicated. He pushed the button below it and waited.

Bruce relaxed when he saw the glow fade from inside of the glass. "Well done."

"That's it?" John didn't bother hiding his disappointment. "No offense, Bruce, but your machines could use a bit more flair. We destroyed a killer virus! There should be fireworks! Music! At least a display showing a happy face or _something_."

Bruce looked at John. "I strike you as someone who asks for things with happy faces?"

"Okay no," John admitted. He brightened up. "But I can, now that I'm here! I can bring so much more _color_ and _joy_ into your life, Batman! You won't know how you lived without me."

"That's already true," Bruce told him. He motioned towards John's things. "Speaking of, are you ready to go upstairs?"

John's eyes went wide. "There's an _upstairs_?"

"I don't actually live in the cave, John."

"This is _awesome!_ " John ran back to the car and gabbed his bags.

Bruce helped, shouldering one carefully so it wouldn't hit the ribs still healing from the fight with Bane. "C'mon. Elevator's this way."

"Is this how we get to - " John lowered his voice, making it sound like a newscaster's, " - stately Wayne Manor?"

"Yep," Bruce said. He waited a moment, letting the elevator rise and giving John time to process that information before adding what he hoped would be the cherry on top. "After we go through the secret passage."

John clapped his hands to his mouth, squealing, albeit muffled, " _So cool!_ "

###

Years of training in multiple martial arts and dedication into turning his mortal body into a finely tuned weapon meant that Bruce managed to catch the projectile flying towards his head before his mind registered that he was holding a pillow that had been thrown by Tiffany.

"The hell?" he asked her.

"You have a cellphone!" She glared at him, hands on her hips. She was still wearing the GCU hoodie and leggings she'd had on when Bruce had last seen her. "It had charge! I know it works because I hacked it myself while you were God knows where! You _could_ have called and told us you were alive!"

"And that you were bringing company," Alfred added, from where he got up to stand beside her. He was wearing his usual uniform. Bruce was grateful to see Alfred stand without any signs of needing help. Alfred, however, looked shocked upon seeing Bruce. "Good lord, is that blood?"

Bruce remembered far too late he was still wearing the shirt John had stained back at the fun house. "It's not mine."

"I see." Alfred said. They were only two words, but Bruce could hear the volumes of stern lecture promised behind them. In a blink Alfred hid it under a polite facade, turning to face Bruce's companion. "You must be John."

"And you! _The_ Alfred!" John clapped his hands in glee before thrusting one in Alfred's direction to shake. "Oh it is an _honor_ to meet you. Really!"

"You know about him?" Bruce asked.

"He's in the background of like a third of your tabloid photos, Bruce," John said, as though Bruce was the odd one for not knowing that offhand. "Of _course_ I know him. Wow. _The_ Alfred. In the flesh!"

"Erm, yes." Alfred pulled his hand back when John showed no signs of stopping the handshake on his own. "Shame we aren't meeting in more pleasant circumstances."

"More pleasant - oh, right. The Agency. Still, better than when I met _her_ ," John said, jerking his thumb towards Tiffany. "I mean this has gotta beat your old man's funeral for good times, am I right?"

Tiffany narrowed her eyes at Bruce. "The explanation for all of this has _got_ to be fascinating."

"John saved everyone on the bridge. I and a lot of other people would be dead right now if it wasn't for him. The Lotus virus would be loose or in the hands of the Agency if not for him. I know you're used to thinking of him as - " Bruce hesitated. He wasn't blind to the many negative things people thought about John but that didn't mean he wanted John to hear those words from Bruce's mouth. He settled for " - as part of the Pact, but he's with us now. With me. He's part of the team and he wants to help."

"I do!" John stood up straight. He tried several positions with his arms before settling on one where his hands rested on his hips. "Fighting for justice! Taking down Agency scum! Cleaning up the city with Batman, like heroes do!"

"We'll need you to make some gear for him," Bruce told Tiffany, already finding it far too easy to picture John putting himself into a situation where he could get shot again. "Emphasis on protection."

"Oo, I have ideas! Designs I could sketch for you!" John clasped his hands together and smiled at Bruce. "Where do you keep your crayons?"

Bruce drew a blank. "I… don't know if I own any?"

"If I may," Alfred said, with a light cough to get their attention, "there are markers downstairs which might serve your purposes?"

"Fortunately I have experience working in different mediums," John said. He gestured towards the doors. "Lead on!"

Bruce caught Alfred before they left. "Thank you. I'll explain everything later. For now let him stay busy with that. Maybe get him a sandwich or something if it's not too much trouble? I have no idea the last time he ate."

Alfred gave him a look dry enough to light fires with. "Unlike you, who I'm sure ate an entire lobster on the drive home."

Bruce ducked his head. "Right. Uh, two sandwiches, then? Please."

"Indeed." Alfred rejoined John's side. "This way."

The doors closed behind them, muffling Alfred's reply as John asked him "Hey, Alf - can I call you Alf?"

That left Bruce alone with Tiffany.

She threw another pillow at him. "Are you _out_ of your _mind_?"

Bruce caught this one as well. He put it on the pool table for lack of anywhere better. "Hang on. I know I owe you explanations and not a little bit of being yelled at. But first things first, please: How's Alfred? Is he going to be okay?"

Some of Tiffany's anger deflated. She shrugged, throwing her hands up in a helpless gesture. "Stressed? Tired? The doc couldn't find anything specific. She wants him to come in for more tests but good luck with _that_ fight."

"I own grapples and I'm not afraid to use them," Bruce said. Alfred could be as pissed about it as he wanted, at least he'd be alive. "Is there anything I can do?"

"You got a wand you can wave to make all this stuff with the Agency go away?" Tiffany suggested. "Because otherwise I've got nothing. I've been trying to help by doing stuff for him but - "

" - he reminded you he has military training and he's taken down bigger foes than you?" Bruce finished. He came over to sit on the couch, letting the heat of the fire ease the ache in his muscles. "Yeah, been there. It's not a fight you can win, though I appreciate you trying. I appreciate all of this. I wouldn't - _couldn't_ \- have trusted Al with anybody else. Thank you."

"I didn't do it for you, but you're welcome." Tiffany sat in the chair to his left. She drew her feet up underneath her. " _Now_ do I get to yell at you?"

"I'm sorry I didn't call."

Tiffany flung her hand in the direction of the doors Alfred had left. "The man is scared out of his mind every time you put on that suit and you go out and nearly get _blown up on a bridge_ and you can't even send him a _text_? What do you think _that_ did to his stress levels?"

"I was trying to protect the both of you," Bruce said. "If the Agency showed up it was better if you didn't know where I was."

"We didn't need an address, we needed a pulse!" Tiffany replied. She looked away from him, gazing towards the fire. "Look, I get the need for secrets, I do. But don't we need some level of, I don't know, trust? Communication? Something? If this is going to work?"

"This is as new for me as it is for you," Bruce admitted. "I know I can trust you, and I know you're capable. It's just hard for me to see you as - well nobody could replace your father, but as someone who's ready to take on his role and all the danger that comes with it."

Tiffany put her feet down on the floor. She leaned forward. "I'm not a little kid anymore. Yeah, this is a _lot_ to take in. I'm still getting used to the fact that _you're_ the Batman."

Bruce frowned. "I feel like there was an insult hidden in there."

"C'mon." Tiffany rolled her eyes. "The amount of time you spend partying and dating and sleeping late and oh my god I just realized that was part of your cover, wasn't it?"

"What can I say?" Bruce gave a tired gesture towards himself, fully aware that he looked like a mess. "My appearance is usually deceiving."

Tiffany covered her face with both hands. "Can we pretend I never said that? I feel like such an idiot."

"Lucky for you it turns out I'm good at keeping secrets."

"Oh shut up." The bite in Tiffany's words was undercut by the smile she gave him. Bruce couldn't remember the last time he'd seen her look untroubled. Not since Lucius's death, anyway. It didn't last long. In the space of a breath she was serious again, and on to the next topic. "What the hell is up with Doe?"

Bruce sighed. "I know I'm asking a lot. I know he hasn't had a chance to make a good first or second impression with you."

"Well my impression is he's _psycho_ so - "

"Don't call him that!"

Silence rang out. It took a moment for Bruce to realize he'd snapped at Tiffany. The defense of John had come automatically, like a muscle memory Bruce didn't even know he had.

"I'm sorry," Bruce said. He rubbed his face with his hand. "It's just - he's ill. He doesn't deserve to be called names because of something he can't control."

"O… kay," Tiffany said. She frowned, studying Bruce like she'd never seen him before.

"He's been in Arkham his whole life," Bruce said. "The Pact was the first group that took him in. Nobody's taught him how to behave outside of an asylum. He was trying his best at the funeral. He's put himself in danger multiple times to save my life. I'm not asking you to become close friends right away, just for you to give him a chance."

"And make him some gear," Tiffany said. "Before I make my own, I might add."

"Only because the Agency is actively coming after him," Bruce said. "That's why I'm asking for speed over style right now. Cannibalize my stuff if you have to. A full vigilante suit  can come later. Right now it's about protection and being able to defend himself if Batman's not there to do it for him. I'm talking bulletproof, taser-proof - "

Tiffany waved him off. "Trust me, I know more things tech can do than you can even dream of. Plus? I'm insulted you think I can't do speed _and_ style. Clearly you have yet to appreciate the brilliance of my work."

"Just keep him safe, Tiffany," Bruce said. "Please."

"Seriously, I got it. Jeez, Bruce, relax. The way you're freaking out about it I'm starting to wonder if I should ask about adding a pouch in the utility belt for condoms." Tiffany grinned, once again looking much like she used to when they were both younger and she could tease him. When Bruce only managed to look back at her stoically, her face fell. "I was kidding. Am I not kidding? Are _you_ kidding? Bruce, tell me you're not sleeping with that guy!"

Bruce thought of several replies, including that his sex life was none of Tiffany's business. But she deserved more honesty than most, so instead he said, "Not yet."

"I don't need that level of detail!" Tiffany covered her eyes with her hand. She took several breaths before asking. "Were you dating before or after my father's funeral? Because if you consider what he did there a turn-on I want you to know I am _not_ afraid to punch Batman in the face and I _will_ throw up all over this carpet."

"Go ahead," Bruce said. "My father liked this rug. It'll finally give me a reason to throw it out. And no, it wasn't the funeral. I mean it wasn't before, either - look all that's beside the point. John is important to me and he's a good person. Can we leave it at that? For now?"

Tiffany stared at him. "I - you - Bruce you own the whole house! You don't need excuses or permission to get rid of the furniture. Why are you - "

She stopped. She looked away from him and sighed. "No. I get it. I mean not all of it. But… I should start working on stuff for John. See what you have in the cave I can get started with."

"Okay." Bruce got up so he could show her how to work the clock to open the passage to the cave. "There's also ways of getting to the lab at Wayne Tower without being seen. You could take John there to try things out if you needed."

"Good to know, but let's not get ahead of ourselves." Tiffany watched him turn the clock hands. "Why 10:47? Oh god. No. Don't tell me, I just guessed."

"Can't say it's difficult to remember," Bruce told her. The exact time his parents died. It served as a different reminder now that he knew the truth about his father, but even so he saw no need to change it.

"Not gonna lie, Bruce," Tiffany said. "I'm starting to see why you don't share. Your brain is a scary place. No wonder you keep so much locked away."

Bruce didn't reply. After all, it wasn't as though he disagreed with her.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

"It's good to see you, John," Dr. Leland's voice was warm. Friendly in a way most people's voices weren't. She unlocked the door to her office and motioned for John to go inside. "Hopefully I haven't kept you waiting long."

"Not long at all," John assured her. He held up the magazine he'd been flipping through - a three year old one about physical fitness. It hadn't had any pictures of Bruce in it, sadly. Neither had any of the other magazines. Dr. Leland really needed to rotate her selection. "I kept myself busy. Besides, you're the one doing me the favor, seeing me on an outpatient basis and all. A little wait is okay."

"I appreciate your understanding," Dr. Leland said. She moved around her office, turning on the light, putting away her clipboard with notes from whatever patient she'd been talking to before John, getting John's folder out of her filing cabinet. It was her usual routine. John found it comforting to watch. "Would you like anything? Water? Tea?"

"I'm fine, but thank you," John said. Politeness was important. At least it was in this part of his life. John Doe, Dr. Leland's patient: polite, nice, unassuming. Bruce was a billionaire, philanthropist, socialite, businessman. John Doe was the guy who nobody would suspect of ever doing anything mean.

At least that's what John was trying for.

They took their places. It wasn't a requirement. John could sit anywhere he wanted to. But over the years he'd grown comfortable with Dr. Leland's couch, a dark brown faux leather piece which took up an entire wall of her small office. He sat on one end, and Dr. Leland sat in a matching chair diagonally across. It was good. Conversational but not too close. John could handle that.

Dr. Leland paged through her notes. "How have things been with your last assignment? We talked about you finding work, something to give your days structure and help you feel connected to society. Have you had any progress? Perhaps thoughts on things you might feel up to trying?"

John knew he couldn't answer truthfully. The only job he cared about involved putting on a costume and fighting by Batman's side. But there were other things that, while they could never be as important, still interested him. "Bruce and I talked about it. We thought maybe I could try helping with the Wayne Foundation, like with people going through what I've gone through. You know - " John tapped his knuckles against the side of his head " - mental stuff."

Dr. Leland turned to a blank page and started writing. "Sounds interesting. What kinds of things?"

"Not sure yet," John admitted. "The Foundation's big, so there's a lot. I thought about doing outreach? Like to patients who leave Arkham and don't know what to do? Then I thought maybe I'd be better at telling people where money could go to make improvements. Not many people would know the fourth shower in the men's bathroom always runs too hot unless they've had to use it, you know?"

"I'll be sure to tell Maintenance," Dr. Leland said. She made a separate note on a spare piece of paper, then turned her attention back to John. "Is there any reason you couldn't do both?"

"Huh." John tilted his head as he thought about it. "I suppose not."

"We would have to be careful you didn't strain yourself, or try so hard to help others your own recovery suffers," Dr. Leland said. "But otherwise do you see a harm in trying? Do you think Mr. Wayne might be amenable to your attempting one and then the other on a test basis?"

"Oh sure," John said. He waved away the concern. "Bruce would do anything for me."

Dr. Leland made another note. "And how are things with you and Mr. Wayne? When we last spoke, we talked about home, and family. Are those things you feel he's managed to help you with? In spite of everything?"

John took a long breath. It went against every instinct to even suggest he and Bruce could have problems. But the sessions with Dr. Leland weren't for show. They were supposed to help. John couldn't tell the whole truth, of course, but he was supposed to tell as much as he could.

"Well, doc, I wouldn't say it all came _easy_ \- "

* * *

Wayne Manor was different from anything John had ever known. Which was obvious, he knew. But still. The place was big. Like _really_ big. Also dark. Which made sense because Bruce thrived in darkness as though the shadows in him and around him were one and the same. It was beautiful. _Bruce_ was beautiful.

What had he been thinking of? Right. The manor.

The place was huge. Even if John hadn’t been able to see it all yet, he could sense the scale of the place. It had weight. It _loomed_.

Arkham had been big too, but Arkham felt like metal, and concrete, and corridors where screams echoed for years and years in what was actually a delightful symphony.

The manor was wood, and stone, and blood. Not that you could see the blood, but John knew it was there. Thomas Wayne couldn't have been the only monster in the Wayne family, but even if he had been he'd offered up enough lives and minds to soak the ground and electrify the air of Gotham on behalf of him and many Waynes besides.

And Bruce - well Bruce had his own taste for blood. Blood by way of justice, but blood all the same. To say nothing of the blood Bruce spilled in the name of his crusade. Making a sacrifice of himself again and again for a goal that John didn't know was fully achievable, but Bruce wanted to try so John wanted to try it for him.

So the manor was strong. Solid. Real. A place that could feel safe, if you didn't mind the darkness.

It was much like Bruce in that way.

Then there was the turkey sandwich. Also the bowl of chips that tasted funny which was why John focused on the sandwich.

To begin with Alfred had asked John what he wanted, which pretty much _never_ happened to him. In Arkham they served whatever was prepared. With the Pact John tended to be the one who made the food runs and tried to remember everybody's preferences (Bane liked any place that had large portions, Victor liked places that offered gluten-free options, and Harley liked when John stopped bothering her and got the freaking food already).

Being asked was different. Nice, but different. John tried to keep it simple by saying a turkey sandwich was fine. He was picturing something like he got in Arkham: two slices of square white bread with some round meat on the inside that, if you were lucky, maybe tasted a little like salt and not much else.

What he got was _turkey_. Like actual carved pieces that looked like they came off the platter from a Thanksgiving TV special. There was lettuce and tomato that were _green_ and _red_ and _crunched_ and _had flavor_. The bread was not square. John didn't know what kind of bread it was, it was thick and white and no particular shape and the crust was crunchy and the inside was chewy but in a good way and not chewy like the brown stuff on the tray when Arkham said they were serving steak.

John took a picture. He had to. He thought about asking Alfred to get in there with him, but the look on Alfred's face suggested that, in spite of their time spent chatting and getting to know one another so far, maybe they weren't in a food-selfie place yet.

Still. It was a memory John wanted to keep.

Just in case.

After eating John worked on his costume ideas. Alfred had provided markers and paper, as promised, and John filled them with sketches and notes on weapons, and costume parts, and even a list of names he was considering for himself. The images were rough, not nearly as cool looking as they were in his head, but he knew they would be awesome once they were made real.

When Bruce came into the room he talked to Alfred, both of them using low voices John couldn't make out from where he was sitting. Alfred's accent sounded serious. Bruce shook his head a few times and folded his arms.

Neither one of them looked in his direction but John knew they had to be talking about him. Who else? John was the new guy, and he wasn't made to live in manors, or eat turkey sandwiches with actual turkey.

Maybe Alfred was giving a report on him. Telling Bruce how John had asked for turkey instead of something else, or how John hadn't eaten the chips because they tasted weird. Not that John had _said_ that but maybe he _should_ have so now Alfred thought John was being rude by not eating the food he'd been given even though John had said thank you, he _had_. He'd been _polite_ , damn it. Or at least he'd tried to be but maybe _some people_ didn't think that was good enough and were telling Bruce -

"Go to bed, Al," Bruce said, all the way on the other side of the room. He put a hand on Alfred's shoulder. "Stop worrying. I'll take care of it."

"If you say so, Master Bruce. Good night." Alfred then turned to give a nod in John's direction. There was no sign of disapproval or… anything, really. "Good night, John."

"Night, Alfred," John said. He added a wave, and let himself remember what it had felt like meeting the man earlier that night. _The_ Alfred. _Bruce's_ Alfred. Someone who wanted to take care of Bruce almost as much as John did. Nothing to worry about. "Sleep tight."

"You as well." Alfred motioned towards the sandwich left on the table for Bruce. "Make sure he eats that, will you?"

"Yes, sir." John gave a salute. "I'll do my best approximation of stern British disapproval until he does."

"Great, now there's two of you," Bruce said, but he didn't sound like he was actually complaining.

"The accent is entirely optional," Alfred told John. "In fact, I insist you not trouble yourself with it."

"I don't mind," John assured him.

"Still - "

"Good _night_ , Al," Bruce said. He gave Alfred a pointed look of his own. "Or do I need to get Tiffany up here to help make sure you get the rest you need?"

"As though you're in any position to talk," Alfred replied, but he did leave, closing the door behind him.

Bruce sat in the chair opposite from John, where his sandwich and a bottle of sparkling water had been placed. Bruce looked at John's side of the table. "How's it going?"

"No peeking!" John quickly gathered up his work, putting the papers together and turning them over so Bruce couldn't see. "It's not done yet. Plus it's a surprise."

"… okay," Bruce said, after a moment of thoughtful silence. He motioned towards the end of the very long table. "Want me to move? I didn't mean to interrupt."

"What? No!" John pushed his papers to the side. Bruce was so strange sometimes. Like drawings could be more interesting than _him_. "I want to talk to you. Can I talk to you? I have questions."

"Go right ahead," Bruce said. He took a generous bite of his sandwich.

"Good. Great." John drummed his fingers against the tabletop then decided to ask in no particular order. "What's a rotunda and am I in one now?"

There was another pause, this time with Bruce holding his bottle of water halfway to his lips. He finished the motion, taking a swallow, before answering. "This is the dining hall. It's admittedly a bit much for two people but Alfred might've wanted to give you room to work. Rotundas are generally round. Can I ask why this came up?"

"I wanted to know how many rooms this place had," John explained. "Alfred said it depended on how you defined rooms and then there were a lot of words I've never heard before and rotunda was the only one I remembered."

"I see." Bruce's voice was plain. Matter of fact. He didn't make fun when John got confused like this, which John appreciated. "If you want I can give you a tour. Maybe tomorrow, when it's light out."

"That'd be great!" John bounced with excitement. Him and Bruce, exploring the manor! Seeing all the places that had mattered to Bruce when he'd been growing up!

As though reading John's mind, Bruce added, "We'll do the grounds too, if there's time. If not we'll get it another day."

"Can't wait!" John told him. Seeing no reason to linger on this topic, he moved on. "Why do the chips taste funny?"

Bruce frowned. He took one out of the bowl and tried it. "They've got rosemary and olive oil on them."

"Oh." John tried another chip. It tasted woody. "Is this a rich person thing? Chips with strange flavors?"

"It's a flavor I like thing," Bruce said. He wiped his fingers on a napkin - cloth, which was another thing John wasn't used to. "Which I guess does make it a rich person thing in a way. But you don't have to eat them. We'll get stuff you like, John. Alfred didn't have any time to prepare for you coming, which was my fault."

"He made a really great sandwich," John assured him, in case that helped in some fashion. "So, uh, what were you guys talking about?"

"A question I need to ask you, if you're done with what you wanted to ask me?" Bruce waited for John's nod of confirmation before continuing. "Sleeping arrangements. But before we get into that, I want to be clear there's no wrong answer. Whatever you want, whatever you're comfortable with, is all right by me."

John had been assigned his bed at Arkham. With the Pact he'd been able to lay claim to the room he'd turned into his Ha-Hacienda because nobody else wanted what they'd called a total trash heap. Questions about sleeping arrangements were even stranger to him than asking about his sandwich preferences. "Okay?"

"There are a couple of guest rooms ready to go," Bruce said. "Alfred prepared them when he wasn't sure if Tiffany was going to bring her family with her. You could have either one of those if you wanted to stay in a guest room."

John was still at a loss. "As opposed to sleeping on a couch?"

Bruce moved his now empty plate aside. "As opposed to my room."

John took that in. Bruce's room. Bruce's _bedroom_. Did that - was Bruce saying -

"With me."

"I didn't know how to ask," John admitted.

Bruce smiled. It was a smile for Bruce which meant his mouth barely moved, but it was a smile all the same. A curve of his lips, aimed in John's direction. Something which meant John had made him happy. Genuinely happy, not the fake happy Bruce wore for magazine covers. "I'm trying not to pressure you. I know what I want but I don't want you to think saying yes to me is a requirement of you being here. I know… we both have a hard time saying no to each other. I don't want to take advantage of that."

John shook his head. Bruce talked such nonsense sometimes. "We don't say no to each other because we don't _have_ to. We're not _meant_ to. You and me, there's no secrets, no pretending. Why hide what you want from _me_?"

Bruce looked at John. His blue eyes were dark. It was like being stared at by the real Bruce, tucked away behind all those masks. John didn't flinch. He stared back. Wanting. Longing for - he wasn't sure _what_ but something was missing and Bruce had it. Bruce could fix it somehow.

There was a scrape of wood against carpet and stone as Bruce got out of his chair. He came to John's side of the table and there was a moment of tension, a charge in the air like before Batman slammed an opponent down to the ground. But instead Bruce touched John's cheek with his fingertips. It was light. Gentle. Like the edge of a cloth napkin.

"What if I want you?" Bruce asked. His voice was soft, the way you were supposed to be when you were in a church. "John, I swear, if you want to sleep alone I will be okay with it. If you want to do nothing but sleep next to me in my room I will be okay with it. If - "

John lunged forward and kissed him. Bruce was brilliant but dumb sometimes. No wonder he needed John to help him.

"I don't ever want anything that's not you," John said. He spoke against Bruce's mouth, licking and biting Bruce's lips to turn them a deep shade of red. "Not anything, not ever. Do you understand?"

And Bruce apparently did, if the way he took John's hand to lead him to the bedroom was any indication.

###

Bruce's bedroom was enormous. Easily bigger than the rec room at Arkham. The bed itself was a huge, wooden, four-poster thing with tons of pillows and dark red and blue blankets. It felt comfortably squishy when John sat on it.

That was about as much as John could take in, because there was kissing and also talking. The former was the both of them, the latter was mostly Bruce.

"John, wait, please," Bruce finally said, after many interrupted attempts at conversation. He cupped John's face in his hands, holding him still with that massive strength of his. "I need to ask you some things. _I_ need that, do you understand? I would've taken you back at the hideout otherwise."

"You could have," John told him.

"We were by Riddler's _corpse_."

"What? Like he was going to offer commentary?"

Bruce made a sound that John knew was him holding back a laugh. "Not what I meant."

"I know." John grinned. "But you thought it was funny, so I think it was worth it."

"I'm being serious," Bruce said. His expression was kind, though. Nowhere near disapproval or disappointment. "John, I'm sorry but I don't think there's a delicate way to put this: have you had sex before?"

"Well… no." John's grin faded. He looked away. He felt like he did when he got out of Arkham: exposed, vulnerable, small. He told himself that wasn't what Bruce meant. Bruce was his friend, he wasn't trying to make fun. But even so Bruce had tons of experience and John had none. John had nothing to offer but enthusiasm, and the Pact had made it clear how little that had been valued compared to skill. "I mean, not that I know of. You and I have already gotten farther than Harley and I ever did. And in Arkham there was only ever one person I was interested in."

"What happened to them?" Bruce asked.

John stared at him. "Uh, he left after I helped him make a phone call? Are you sure you didn't hit your head on the bridge, buddy?"

"Oh." Bruce cleared his throat. "I - oh. Thank you. I didn't realize."

John shrugged. "Isn't there a saying about when you're supposed to set stuff free?"

Bruce was quiet for a long moment. He sat down beside John. "So nobody as far as you can remember, which is most of your life."

"Right." John looked up at Bruce. "But I can learn! You know you can teach - "

Bruce held up a hand to interrupt him. "You were in Arkham long enough that if you'd had sex before and gotten something, they would've known about it. So you're probably clear."

"I guess?" John said. He had no idea where Bruce was going with this.

"The playboy mask isn't - wasn't - entirely a mask," Bruce said. He looked John in his eyes. "It couldn't be if people were going to believe it. But I was always safe, and I can tell you I'm in the clear as well."

"It wouldn't matter," John said. He was jealous of those who'd been with Bruce before, sure, but as for the rest of it, "even if you weren't I'd still want to be with you. Have sex with you. Will you only believe me if I say have sex?"

A smile touched Bruce's lips again. "I believe you. I also have some strong opinions on what I'd like to do with you."

They were kissing again. Bruce started it this time. He tangled a hand in John's hair and kissed him, wet, open-mouthed, until John was breathless. Then Bruce moved back to whisper in John's ear:

"And when I'm inside you I don't want a single damned thing in between us."

Which - well that wasn't _fair_. How could John not kiss Bruce back after hearing that? And Bruce's shirt - that had to go. John grabbed at it, not caring about the buttons or the cloth, because those _rude agents_ had used John to get their blood on Bruce and that was _not allowed_. They couldn't be here. Nobody else could be here. It was him and Bruce, Bruce and him. Bruce understood. That's why there couldn't - shouldn't - be anything between them.

Bruce helped, tossing the shirt aside once it had been opened enough. He then started on John's vest and shirt. Though his eyes were dark and his expression intense, he moved carefully, undoing one button at a time. He paused only to touch and kiss John, either on his mouth or on John's skin as it was exposed.

If the paleness of John's flesh was an issue Bruce didn't say. He certainly didn't act like it. He kept kissing and caressing until John was warm but shivering all over.

"I - " John swallowed on a dry mouth. Bruce was kissing his way down John's stomach and John felt like he wasn't doing enough. "I, uh, could - "

Bruce moved up in a smooth, graceful motion to kiss John again. "It's okay. Let me."

"Let you do what?" John asked, because all he could think of was that he wanted Bruce in some pure, fundamental way but he wasn't sure _how_.

Then Bruce opened John's pants and -

\- and that was Bruce's _mouth_ on his -

Oh. This, this was too much. It was too much in a way that was _perfect_ , like circuits overloaded in the _best_ way, like his whole body was _scattered_ , lost, too far gone to understand words. _He_ was gone, and the only thing that existed was the wet hot sensation of Bruce, Bruce doing - Bruce _sucking_ and _moving_ and then there was some kind of _hum_ and - and - and -

\- _and! -_

\- and that was _so much better_ than _any_ explosion could _ever_ hope to be.

"I'll take the compliment, but again if you could try not to kill people I'd consider it a favor."

"Oops!" John giggled. He clapped a hand over his mouth and giggled some more. Everything tingled. He wondered if that was normal. "Sorry. Didn't know I said that out loud."

"It's okay." Bruce kissed John, his mouth now tasting a new kind of salty sour that John liked. It was as though part of John had stayed with Bruce. "You make nice noises."

John hadn't even noticed but if Bruce appreciated them who was he to argue? "Do I do you now?"

"Do whatever you like," Bruce said. He sat up, spreading his arms out in invitation. "Doesn't have to be what I did."

John thought about it. He stripped off the rest of his own clothes because keeping them on was sticky and awkward. He then started on Bruce, pulling off Bruce's undershirt and - "How is this _possible_?"

"What?" Bruce asked.

John gestured at the sculptured - albeit bruised and battered - _art_ that was Bruce's bare torso. "How does the suit not do you _justice_? I thought it made up some muscles!"

Bruce folded his arms. "You thought I was _weaker_ than the suit made me out to be?"

"Well like to intimidate your enemies," John hastily added. "Not that I thought _you_ were weak. I've felt what you can do, you're practically made of _stone_. But I didn't think that underneath it all you were _this_. I mean _wow_. Um… can I maybe?"

Bruce shook his head, bemused, as John gestured towards his phone. "Sure."

"Yes!" John quickly set his phone up for a selfie. He angled it so it showed more of Bruce's chest than his - John already knew what his own body looked like, after all - and took the picture.

"At some point I'll find something I can actually say no to you for," Bruce said.

John beamed at him. "But why?"

The rest of Bruce's clothes had to go. John tried doing as Bruce had, kissing and touching any spot where skin was bared. Once there was all of Bruce to choose from, John tried focusing on different places, ultimately becoming enraptured in the sight of Bruce's reactions as John stroked him up and down. It was intoxicating. It felt _powerful_. To be able to give Bruce - _Bruce_ \- so much pleasure with such a small gesture, a bit of movement of his hand in one direction or another and Bruce's breath hitched, or his nipples grew tight, or he murmured "John" like the word itself was enjoyable to say.

John could've done it forever. He lost track of time watching Bruce like this. It wasn't until Bruce groaned, grabbed John by the shoulders, and pinned him down on the mattress saying "I need to be inside you _now_ " that John realized both how long he'd been doing it and how much Bruce had been using his inner discipline to keep himself in control while it happened.

Bruce was… slightly less in control now. Or no, he had control but he wasn't hiding what he wanted. There was no pretense. John laughed, delighted at the sight of it. Bruce didn't need to pretend with him. John was his. _All_ of him was his. If Bruce wanted to kiss or touch or bite or - or do whatever that was, with something wet and slick that John realized were Bruce's _fingers_ now covered with something and they were touching, caressing, _pushing_ -

"Trust me," Bruce said, his eyes locked on John's.

It hadn't been a question but John answered anyway, "Yes. Completely. Uh - "

And then there was _more_. It was a fullness. A connection. Something different. Something John didn't know if he understood until Bruce's hand shifted and - _oh_ \- the tingling, near-explosion feeling was back and - and this was good. This was nice. Bruce could keep doing this, if he wanted.

Which Bruce did. But the more and more and more was followed by _nothing_ which was _horrible_ and John would've made a sound of disappointment except then there was _everything_. There was _Bruce._ Bruce, _inside_ of him. _Part_ of him. And Bruce was normally the one with the masks but _John_ felt like he was the one laid bare. Veils and walls and lies he hadn't even known he _had_ were gone, completely. It was _him_ , all him, there for Bruce to have and take if he wanted it, for whatever Bruce wanted, for whatever Bruce _needed_. Because this was them. No barriers between them. _Nothing_ between them. The two of them, connected, two threads, forever, their very beings meant to be together always no matter what and - and - and -

The world went away when John hit his second climax. Which was fine. He only needed Bruce.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much thanks to everyone for putting up with my erratic posting schedule. My health is such that it's feast or famine on when I have the energy to write. 
> 
> Also many thanks to those who have commented, recced the fic, and so on. You give me encouragement to keep going!

> Why now? Why risk the tenuous improvement to the Wayne name and reputation by willingly risking - some might even say inviting - scandal?
> 
> Wayne is thoughtful when I ask him this. When he answers, the words are careful. Not the careful of a client dutifully reciting what his PR firm has told him to say, but the careful of a man who is, perhaps, for the first time trying to speak from the heart instead of a TelePrompTer.
> 
> "Your question is the answer," Wayne says. He puts his hands out in front of him, palm-side up, as though he's making an offering of himself. "This wasn't an easy lesson for me. I won't claim otherwise. But if I didn't complain when being Thomas Wayne's son opened doors for me I don't get to complain when being his son slams those doors in my face.
> 
> "If I want to be judged for who I am then I have to _share_ who I am. I can't keep any secrets. Not even ones that some would advise me to keep."
> 
> Were there those who suggested staying in the closet?
> 
> "I'm not going to name names," Wayne says. "But yes. There were also those who didn't get that far. For them the problem wasn't that I was with a man, it was that I was with John."

* * *

Breakfast was in the dining hall. Bruce didn't know if that was Alfred sending a message of some kind - Bruce was happy enough to eat at the table in the kitchen, and Tiffany counted as family enough to have eaten there as well. But then Alfred greeted him with "I trust you _slept_ well, Master Bruce?" and Bruce knew that not only was there a message in the continued choice of the formal location but that he was running out of the ability to avoid talking to Alfred about things Bruce would've rather not talked about with anyone.

Coffee first, however. Bruce helped himself to a cup from the buffet Alfred had set out. Beside him John filled a plate with large helpings of everything on offer - scrambled eggs, bacon, sausage, toast, and fruit.

"Alfred, this looks _great_!" John said. "We never had food like this in Arkham. Bruce is _so_ lucky to have you!"

"Indeed," Alfred said, while looking at Bruce.

John did the same. He nudged Bruce with his elbow. "Hey, you should eat something. After all - " John lowered his voice " - you need your strength now that you and I have something we can _both_ practice a hundred times a day."

Bruce tried not to choke on the mouthful of coffee he'd been about to swallow. He shot John a look that he couldn't pretend was anything but amused, though it should have been scolding. "Not the training regimen I had in mind for you."

John looked hopeful, not unlike when he'd asked about learning to throw a batarang. "Could it be?"

Bruce fought the urge to kiss him. Which made him realize how the thought of kissing John had been with him even then, in the alley behind the Stacked Deck. It was the pull of knowing he could make John happy in a way nobody else could; of _wanting_ to be the one who made John happy.

But Alfred and Tiffany were right there, and Bruce knew overt displays of affection were likely to risk the probationary period they were giving John on Bruce's behalf. Instead Bruce shifted so that instead of moving closer to John he was better able to make his own plate of fruit and toast, and softly replied, "I never said it wasn't going to be included."

" _Yes!_ " John said, not at all quietly. He smiled at Bruce, delighted - a smile Bruce found himself returning - then took his plate to the far end of the table where Alfred was sitting. "Alfred! I'm glad you're here. I have questions about what makes muffins English."

"This is still weird," Tiffany told Bruce, when he took his own seat at the end of the table near her. She took a bite out of a piece of bacon from her plate. "In case you were wondering."

"John's bags were outside my bedroom door this morning," Bruce said. "Which means Alfred figured out John was with me last night. So no, I wasn't in the dark about how weird breakfast was going to be."

Tiffany shrugged a single shoulder. "Figured it out, or maybe your bedroom walls aren't as thick as you'd like to think they are."

For the second time in as many minutes, Bruce tried not to choke on his coffee.

Tiffany patted him on the back. She looked far too satisfied. " _Man_ are you easy. You'd think Batman would be harder to prank."

"Batman hasn't had enough caffeine yet." As though proving Bruce's point, his cellphone rang before he could take another sip. The caller ID didn't make it better, but Bruce answered anyway. "Waller. Calling to say good bye?"

"Hand over Doe and the virus," Waller replied. "Then I'll be happy to say a fond farewell to you and this entire godforsaken city."

Bruce clamped down on the annoyance he felt whenever Waller insulted Gotham. It wasn't her city. She didn't have the _right_. But that wasn't the point right now. "How about we skip 'fond' and go right to farewell? The virus is gone."

"Gone?" Waller said. "As in you let that _maniac_ \- "

"As in it's been destroyed," Bruce told her. Down at the other end of the table John was watching him with a mixture of anger and curiosity. Mostly anger. Bruce motioned for John to be patient with him. "I couldn't give it to you even if I wanted to."

Waller huffed out a breath. "I'm supposed to trust you?"

"Like I'm trusting you," Bruce said. "Or _do_ you have a sample of Riddler's blood lying around? And as long as I'm asking questions, how's Victor?"

"Classified," Waller said. "And fine. I'll believe you on the virus. It'd be like you to get rid of it if you got your hands on it. Now give me Doe."

"Not happening," Bruce told her.

"I know you know where he is - "

"Not. Happening." Bruce pushed away from the table and walked into the hallway. He didn't trust himself to be able to keep a calm expression, and he didn't want to run the risk of upsetting John. The last thing they needed was for John to speak up and reveal he was there. "Waller, let me make it clear: you are _not_ getting your hands on him. Take the loss and your crew and get out of my city."

"Did you forget who you were talking to, _Batman_?" Waller replied.

"You know what, Waller? Go ahead," Bruce said. "Play that card. And I'll make sure everyone knows how the bridge went sour because _you_ decided to execute an unarmed civilian who was _helping us_."

"That so-called civilian murdered my agents!" Waller shot back. "He stabbed _me_!"

Bruce was grateful he wasn't on speakerphone. "You _and_ your agents tried to kill him!"

"He _deserved_ it."

Bruce forced himself to take a breath. Had Waller been in front of him… well, just as well he didn't have to find out how strong his willpower would have to be if she was standing in front of him. Instead, calmly, Bruce said, "Neither you nor your agents will touch a hair on his head. Am I making myself clear?"

"I and my agents will do what it takes to do our _jobs_ ," Waller replied. So let me make _myself_ clear. Turn Doe over or not only will I burn your identity to the ground, I'll burn _his_. I'll put your boy on so many Most Wanted lists he won't be able to go to the _bathroom_ without the FBI and twelve available SWAT teams breaking down the door. The reward on his head will be so high there'll be scum breaking out of prison in order to find him and collect. And if you make me wait too long all those Wanted posters won't specify if he needs to be alive."

"For what crime?" Bruce said. "You can't point to anything involving the Agency without implicating yourself."

"I know," Waller replied. Her voice was cool with satisfaction. "Luckily I don't have that problem if I tell everyone _he's_ the psycho who killed Riddler. You have until the end of the week. Don't test me."

Waller hung up. Bruce swore, then saw Tiffany, Alfred, and John looking at him through the doorway.

"That sounded like it went well," Tiffany said.

Bruce motioned for everyone to return to their seats. He needed the rest of his coffee in order to deal with this. "That was Waller."

"So we gathered," Alfred said.

"She wants you," Bruce said, looking at John. There was no way to sugar coat it without lying so Bruce plunged ahead. "She says she'll blame you for Riddler's death if we don't comply."

" _Riddler's_ death?" Tiffany looked surprised. "But - I mean - huh?"

"This in addition to giving up Batman's identity, I assume?" Alfred asked.

John, for his part, looked panicked. He clung to Bruce's shirtsleeve. "Bruce, I didn't! You know I didn't! I mean - well, not that you _saw_ me but - but you didn't! See me! Because I _didn't kill Riddler_!"

"I know you didn't." Bruce caught John's hand in his own and held it tight. He looked John in the eyes. "Trust me. I won't let her get anywhere near you. You've got Batman _and_ all of my money protecting you. Got it?"

John looked uncertain, but he nodded. "I trust you."

"We should probably up the schedule on John's equipment," Tiffany said. "You know, for his protection. Just in case."

"Thank you," Bruce told her. "I'd appreciate that."

Tiffany shrugged, not looking towards him. "Nobody should get hurt for something they didn't do."

"Which I didn't!" John said.

"So you've told us," Alfred replied. He hadn't moved from his spot at the far end of the table. "Master Bruce, may I have a word?"

"Tiffany, could you and John get started now?" Bruce asked.

"Of course," Tiffany said. "We'll be in the cave."

"I'll find you later," Bruce promised John. He leaned in instinctively, hesitated, then decided he might as well make things clear in front of everyone by giving John a kiss. "We have a lot to practice."

Bruce was rewarded by the sight of John's nerves fading into a brilliant smile. "Oh yeah. _Tons_. See you soon, Bats."

At which point John and Tiffany left Bruce alone with Alfred.

Bruce poured himself another cup of coffee.

"I'm not sure where to begin," Alfred admitted. "Bruce, what are you _thinking_?"

"Somebody needs to call Nora's family to let them know we've got her," Bruce said. He sat down, feeling the weight of days' worth of exhaustion fall over him. "As long as Victor's status is unknown they're far more qualified to decide what should be done with her than we are. I need a better idea of what the news has been saying about the bridge so we can come up with a plan on how to handle that. And if I'm going to be playing political chicken with high-powered government agents I either need to increase the number of my lawyers or contribute to campaigns that allow me to bypass problems like this entirely. Probably both."

Alfred frowned with disapproval. " _Bruce_ \- "

"You asked what I was thinking," Bruce replied. He knew he was being childish but he was too frustrated to care. "I'm sick of being manipulated by Waller or anyone else for that matter. She has to have a boss. What good is my money and power if I can't use it to get to them? Convince whoever she works for to see my side."

"Why limit yourself?" Alfred asked. "As many things as Waller is involved with, I'm sure official government channels are not the only means. You should consider ways to manipulate the criminal element to your advantage as well."

It took a moment for Bruce to realize what Alfred was truly saying. "That is a low - I am _not_ my father!"

"Thomas used his influence to get what he wanted," Alfred said. "How is what you propose any different?"

"I'm talking about _helping_ people!" Bruce said. He flung his hand in the direction of the windows. "Innocents. People of this city. People I _care_ about."

"Your father was many things," Alfred said, his voice not unkind, "I won't dispute that. However he truly cared for you and your mother, Bruce. The things he did, as horrible as they were, were his way of protecting you both."

Bruce felt cold. "Do you really think so little of me? Do you really think I would ever be so cruel - so _evil_ as to do what my father did?"

"No, no." Alfred came closer to stand in front of Bruce. "My boy, I don't think you evil or cruel. What I do think is you walk a dangerous path. You are so focused on your crusade, your desire to save the world, I think you could lose yourself before you realized it. I already know you would risk your life to protect me, or Tiffany. Is it so much of a stretch for me to fear you'd risk your soul for - for what you thought were the right reasons?"

"What am I supposed to do, Al?" Bruce asked. "Let Waller get away with it? Do whatever she wants to Gotham? To _John_?"

"Of course not," Alfred said. "But why go to such extremes? Why endanger yourself and others for a man you met in an _asylum_?"

"While I was a patient too," Bruce reminded him.

"Because of Lady Arkham!" Alfred took a moment to compose himself. "Regardless, John is… not well. I know that you have grown fond of him but he needs the kind of help you cannot provide. And I fear your attempts to aid him will only drag you down."

"Down to what?" Bruce asked. "John has saved my life. He's my _friend_. I'm not turning my back on him, Alfred. I get your point about my father's methods, and fine, I'll find some other way to get Waller to leave. But John stays. End of discussion."

Alfred sighed. "You're not - "

"What?"

Alfred shook his head. "Nothing. I should clear these dishes. You should finish eating. Your food's long since gotten cold."


	4. Chapter 4

"The important thing is honesty," John said. "It's the foundation of any good relationship."

"And you feel that you and Mr. Wayne are able to be honest with one another?" Dr. Leland asked. She continued to write notes. John hoped she was writing down all good things about him and Bruce. There wasn't anything negative that anyone _could_ write, really.

Not now anyway.

"Oh yeah," John said. "Bruce and I don't have any secrets. I know him better than he knows himself. There's nothing to hide."

Dr. Leland looked up at him. "Better than he knows himself? That sounds like a lot of responsibility. What about you? How can you know yourself if you have to know everything about him?"

"I don't have to, I _want_ to!" John said. Though he wasn't sure he fully understood the difference. Who would watch out for Bruce like he did? Nobody _could_ take care of Bruce like he did, that was for sure. "Bruce does the same for me. He knows me. That's why he was able to show me how to be myself! My _real_ self. No pretending. Not around him, anyway."

Dr. Leland quirked an eyebrow. "Not around him? Does that mean you feel you have to hide your real self around other people?"

"Um - " John offered her a smile, hoping he still looked like a friendly and helpful patient " - not _hide_ so much as not share all of me. Bruce gets everything. Other people… it depends. But what they see is still the real me! Just _parts_ , is all."

"Could you give an example?" Dr. Leland asked.

* * *

John jumped into the main area of the hidden Wayne Towers lab and spread his arms wide. "What do you think?"

Tiffany stared at him. "It's… a look."

"Isn't it though?" John spun around to give her the full effect. His costume! His very own vigilante outfit! Now that it was all together it was better than he'd even imagined!

Tiffany had helped with the clothing and the tools. The final touches of makeup and color scheme had been all John. The whole thing was _awesome_ , if he did say so himself.

"Do you think Bruce will like it?" John asked. "I mean, of course he will. He has to, right? I know it's not quite his style but it's enough to show that we're together. A team! Fighting for justice!"

"I don't think I'm qualified to talk about what Bruce likes these days," Tiffany said. She gestured for John to walk back and forth across the lab. "Let me see how the coat moves now that you've got everything on. I want to make sure that shoulder isn't going to rip."

John did so, making sure to include swooping movements. He intended to have a lot of those. Dramatic entrances were a key part of fighting villainous scum, after all.

"It'll do," Tiffany decided. She went over to the computer and began the kind of rapid-fire typing that John could only do if he was pretending to write while hitting the keys. "It's not what I'd put together if we had more time, but Bruce stressed speed and safety. Style was my own addition."

"I appreciate it," John said. He hoped he was saying the right words. He'd never deliberately tried to say anything bad to Tiffany, but he got the impression that he'd repeatedly done so anyway. " _I_ think it all looks great. I'm glad Harley never killed you. I didn't want her to, you know. It was just - well she got me all turned around, and I had to think fast and your name came up and I knew Bruce would be able to figure it all out in the end and - and - "

Tiffany was staring at him.

John cleared his throat. "Bruce, uh, didn't mention I was the one who told Harley about you?"

"Bruce doesn't mention a lot," Tiffany said.

"I never meant for you to get hurt!" John said. Which was true, in a way. Granted he hadn't really _cared_ if Tiffany got hurt, but at the same time neither had he planned for something bad to happen to her. As far as John was concerned that was the same thing as having had good intentions. "All I wanted was for Bruce to be safe. Which, okay, didn't work either since he didn't listen to my plan and they almost killed _him_. But it worked out in the end, right? Good thing too. I bet it would've really sucked for you to have _two_ funerals to go to one after the other. Though I guess your own funeral wouldn't count. Not like you'd remember it."

"Part of me wonders if you saying things like that is what Bruce likes about you," Tiffany said. She held up a hand before John could reply. "The majority of me _never_ wants to know."

"I meant it in a good way?" John's shoulders slumped. He'd gotten it wrong again. At this rate Tiffany would hate him and tell Bruce and Bruce might get mad enough to tell John he couldn't be a vigilante. Which would mean not going after the Agency which was _unacceptable_ because it was filled with _bad people_ who deserved to be _punished_ for doing _rude things_ to Bruce and to him and -

"Look," Tiffany said with a sigh. She looked at him with… sympathy? It seemed like sympathy. Or pity.  "I don't pretend to understand what you and Bruce see in each other - "

"What?" Now John was confused. "Bruce is _amazing_ why wouldn't anybody - "

"He's like a _brother_ to me," Tiffany told him. "So the idea of looking at him in some kind of - whatever - sexual or romantic light is _gross_."

John decided not to take this as an insult on Bruce's behalf and instead used it to soothe the thoughts in the back of his mind which wondered if Tiffany ever wanted to try being the next Catwoman in Bruce's life. "Okay."

"I suppose all that matters is if Bruce is happy. But point being - " Tiffany folded her arms and looked away. "I know you didn't kill Riddler. So I'm glad to help keep Waller and the Agency from getting their hands on you for that. You being on team Batman is a bonus."

"Team Batman all the way," John agreed. He held his hand out, then hesitated. "Do we have a secret handshake? We should have a secret handshake."

"I'm going to leave it to you to come up with that," Tiffany said.

John started to figure out how do a handshake that included bat wings of some kind - maybe hooking the thumbs together and fluttering the other fingers? - while Tiffany resumed her typing. They were both interrupted by an alert from the computer.

"Tiffany, are you there?" Alfred asked. His face appeared on one of the monitors.

"Yeah, I'm here," Tiffany said.

"Me too, Al," John said, helpfully.

"Er - yes," Alfred said. "Do you know where Bruce is? He was supposed to contact me after he left Wayne Tower but I've not heard from him. He isn't answering his phone either."

John felt a sick feeling in his gut. Fortunately Tiffany was already working, the other monitors flickering to life with security camera footage from around Gotham.

"I can trace his phone and try to locate him," Tiffany said. "From there it's just a matter of getting the visual and - oh crap."

One of the monitors had the image of Bruce. With the press of a few buttons Tiffany had different angles of the same area appear. Bruce was in an alley, in civilian clothes. His shirt was torn, and a streak of blood was falling from his mouth.

He was surrounded by Agency agents, all of whom were pointing guns in Bruce's direction.

"That's not far from here," Tiffany said. "I can get the drones on it but John can you - "

Which was the last John heard, because he was already running out the door.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again thanks to everyone for their patience, feedback, and support!

> An assistant interrupts with papers for Wayne to sign. He does so easily, his movements brisk, his signature straightforward. His penmanship is neither the vague scrawl of one who can't be bothered to write properly or the overzealous flourish of one who sublimates his ego into his autograph. The only hint of decoration is in the calligraphy style loops that form the B, perhaps an indication of how the Wayne name isn't the one he wishes to emphasize anymore.
> 
> "I can only be myself," Wayne says, when I ask him. He flashes a smile, boyish in its charm. "Whoever that may be. Bruce, Mr. Wayne, my father's son, or my mother's. I think we all struggle with finding our identity. We all evolve and learn about ourselves as we go."
> 
> I ask if it is ironic, then, that someone with a name as well-known as his has paired with someone whose name is a synonym for anonymity.
> 
> Wayne gives this some thought. "Names aren't important. What matters is if you are with someone who truly knows and cares about _you_."

* * *

"Hey, handsome. Can a friend get the benefit of a lift?"

Bruce hadn't expected Selina… at all, really, let alone waiting for him in the lobby of Wayne Tower. She was dressed in civilian clothing with tight ripped jeans, spiked heels, a white tank top, and a short black leather jacket. A scarf around her neck was the only visible accessory. Of course it was gray.

"I thought you left town," Bruce said.

"Plans change." Selina pushed away from the wall and fell into step beside him. She hooked their arms together without asking. "You're not too busy for me right now, are you?"

Bruce had promised to call Alfred after dropping John and Tiffany off at the lab. He also hadn't wanted to leave John and Tiffany alone in the building for too long in case Waller's people came sniffing around. But Selina gripped Bruce's arm tight, her nails just short of hurting him through his sleeve. Clearly there was more going on than Selina's otherwise calm demeanor implied.

"Never too busy for you," Bruce said. "Here, my car's right out front."

"I noticed." Selina's lips curled in a familiar smirk. "Bright red sports cars aren't exactly stealthy."

Bruce didn't rise to the bait. He held the passenger door open for her, then got in on the driver's side once she was settled. "All right, where am I - "

"Alone at last," Selina said and pulled Bruce into a hug before he could register what was happening. She pressed in close, her body tight against his. When she spoke again, her breath tickled against his left ear. "It's good to _see_ you again, Bruce."

Bruce froze. He'd let desire shape his impulses with Selina before. Perhaps in another life he'd keep giving in to them, finding comfort in Selina which came from having her as his partner in every sense. But that wasn't _this_ life and he'd already told her as much. He was ready to tell her again when he heard her words and how she'd said them.

_See_.

He looked. Selina's scarf had moved to the side, exposing -

"What the hell is _that_?" Bruce would've jerked away but Selina held him in place.

" _Don't_ react," she said, with a note of pleading Bruce suspected she didn't let herself use around many people. She kept whispering in his ear, moving in a way which made it look as though she were nuzzling and kissing him instead. "Tell me you've still got signal jammers or whatever it is that keeps this car private, because I'm wired for sound too."

"I do. They're on," he assured her. He hugged her in earnest now that he knew the tension inside her was fear. "They always are."

"Good." She gave him another squeeze, then let go. She tucked the scarf back into place. "Then drive. We're not going to end up anywhere far but feel free to take a long way until I tell you how to get there."

Bruce kept his expression clear of any questions he wanted to ask her. He turned the car on and pulled into traffic, aiming for an easy lap around the business district which didn't require too much of his attention.

After they'd gone a few blocks, Selina spoke. "Waller's people caught me on my way out of the lab. This _thing_ around my neck - well, the kindest description is it's Waller's security blanket. If we don't do as she says, it shocks us until we get back in line."

Bruce fought hard against the urge to bring the car to a screeching halt. He did, however, change direction to head towards the manor. "What in the - no. We're getting that off you. I am not going to let her - "

"Bruce, if we try to escape or take it off it _kills_ us." Selina clutched his arm to get his attention. "I've seen it. As bad as this is at least my head is still attached."

"How - " Bruce glanced over as though he could see the workings of the device from where he sat. "No. There's got to be a way."

"If there was don't you think I of all people would've found it?" Selina replied. She gave him a wry smile. "You know I'm not the type to let myself be domesticated. Bruce, trust me. Right now the only play is to pretend to go along. At least this way you've got someone on your side in the Agency. That's how I was able to score this job. I convinced Waller you would listen to me."

"Because of our relationship," Bruce said. He felt stupid for thinking Selina had been snuggling up to him because she hadn't understood his desire to stick to being friends. He pushed past the feeling and took an exit to get them back on a route around Gotham. "Okay. So talk. You keep saying 'us'. Who else is there?"

"Harley and Bane," Selina said. "I'm not sure about others. But we're the dream team that's supposed to get you in line."

"Why doesn't she burn my identity?" Bruce asked. "I'm not eager to go public but she's had that card the whole time."

"Would _you_ do it if you were her?" Selina replied. She held up a hand before Bruce could speak. "No, think about it. Right now she has Bruce Wayne _and_ Batman under her control. If she reveals your identity she loses both of you. Sure, she could try fitting you with her newest accessory, but you'd just be some former masked freak. No billions or reputation for her to take advantage of."

Bruce had to admit Selina had a point. "Then it's a stalemate. Because I'm not doing what she says and she won't use the one thing she has against me."

"The _one_ thing?" Selina quirked a single eyebrow upward. "Bruce, you don't have a _one_ thing. Or you do, but it's not your identity. What were you thinking showing Waller your belly like that?"

Bruce frowned. "Excuse me?"

"You drew the line in the sand around _John_ , of all people. And then _told_ Waller about it!" Selina rolled her eyes. "I get you have your principles but this is dumb even for your savior complex."

"My savior complex includes _you_ ," Bruce reminded her.

"Which I've also said was dumb," she replied. "Some of us aren't worth saving. And others - I know he makes for an amusing little sidekick but come on. Even you have to see John's not a worthwhile exchange for you. You'd give up everything - _everything_ \- for _John_?"

Bruce's hands tightened on the wheel. He stared straight ahead. "Yes."

"You can't be - "

"I said _yes_!"

Silence rang out between them. Bruce felt the weight of Selina's stare on him.

Finally, she spoke. "Just friends, huh?"

Bruce looked at her, ready to argue, but she held her hands up in peace.

"I'm not judging!" Selina paused, then shrugged. "Okay, I'm a _little_ judging but only of your Good Guy tendencies - capital letters fully intended. You'd rip yourself into pieces if you thought it would help someone, wouldn't you?"

Bruce sighed. "Selina, I'm sorry if I - "

"Please." She waved him off. "We had a good time. I wasn't losing sleep over it - well, other than while we were having a good time. Now it's benefits of friends, like we agreed. Turn here, by the way. My stop's two blocks past the light."

Bruce drove as she directed. "I still want to help you. You shouldn't have to fight Waller alone."

"I know you do, and I want the same." Selina said. She waited for Bruce to park and unlock the car doors before giving him another hug. "Which is why I'm sorry about this, and I hope you'll understand."

"Understand wh - " Bruce started to ask when his door opened and he was yanked onto the sidewalk.

###

Bruce barely had time to process Selina driving away - in _his car_ , damn it - before taking in the sight of six of Waller's finest aiming their guns at him.

"Fancy meeting you here," Bruce said. He kept his hands up, trying to look innocent. The Agency goons knew Bruce wasn't helpless, but they were on a public sidewalk. Bruce couldn't risk some bystander seeing him do things a useless billionaire wasn't supposed to be able to do. More importantly, Bruce couldn't risk some innocent person getting hurt if he and these agents started to fight.

Unfortunately their leader - Bruce recognized him as Harrison - didn't share Bruce's view on the matter. He clocked Bruce across the face with the butt of his gun.

"Tell me where John Doe is!"

Bruce spat blood from his newly split lip. "I'll tell you what I told your boss, if you think you can handle the swearing."

Harrison lifted his arm to hit Bruce again. Bruce dove out of the way, using the opening to get past Harrison and into the alley behind him. It wasn't ideal, but it provided more cover than the sidewalk did.

"Oh no you don't - " one of the agents grabbed him.

Bruce pulled back, popping the buttons of his shirt in the process. It was enough to get free. Bruce ran as far back into the alley as he could go. He was stuck, now. There was no other way out. But at least he'd drawn the fight somewhere private.

"I'm not surprised," Harrison said. "Doe's a monster, same as your old man. No wonder you stick up for him."

"John saved the city!" Bruce snapped before he could stop himself. "He risked his _life!_ "

"Doe's a killer," Harrison said. He was close enough Bruce could see the blue glow on his gun. "If you're protecting a killer, that means you're my enemy too. _Fire_!"

The air filled with pops and sizzles as six guns fired in Bruce's direction. Bruce threw his arm up to block, same as he would if he was being shot at. But he wasn't in the Batsuit's Kevlar and the Agency's weapons were strong enough to hurt even if he had been.

Pain burst through Bruce's arms and chest as the guns sent electricity through him. Bruce fell to the ground. Every muscle tensed. He had no idea how long it went on but it felt like hours. Only when it stopped was Bruce able to try to think of moving, but his arms and legs felt too weak to carry him. He listed to the side, trying to push through, when he heard it -

"Hit him again!"

He couldn't get away. There was no chance he could get himself to safety. He couldn't even get his eyes to focus as the muzzle of an agent's gun appeared in front of him. Bruce braced himself, trying to remember his training. He'd get through this, he just had to dig deep and find the strength inside him.

Then there was a _whoosh_ of air by Bruce's ear, and a familiar metallic _clang!_ as something knocked the gun right out of the agent's hand.

"What the hell?" Harrison demanded. But he was drowned out as a light _ting!_ rang out, followed by a hiss as smoke filled the air around him and the other agents.

A purple figure dropped down from the rooftops, landing in front of Bruce. "Sorry I'm late! Traffic in this neighborhood is _such_ a killer!"

Bruce stared as he realized who it was. _John?_

" _Mr._ Wayne, it's a pleasure to meet you!" John, dressed in a flowing purple coat, striped pants, a shirt and green vest, and his hair in two large spikes, turned to face Bruce with a flourish. He gave Bruce a wink once his back was to the agents. "I've heard _so_ much about you!"

"I… wish I could say the same?" Bruce replied.

"The name's _Joker_ ," John said. The word came out of him rough, deeper, like a promise underlined with a threat. In a flash the harshness was gone, replaced by a smile as John offered him a hand up. "I'm a friend of Batman's! He wanted me to rescue you."

"Uh - thanks?" Bruce accepted the hand as he stood. His muscles still didn't want to obey him, but he tried to hide it. Over John's shoulder, Bruce saw the smoke dissipate and an agent raise their gun. "Look out!"

Bruce tried to shove John, but John moved quickly, ducking out of the way and tossing what looked suspiciously like a batarang in a deft flick. It sent the agent's gun flying out of their hands.

John laughed. "I see I need to teach some lessons in _manners_ and _justice_."

Harrison's eyes narrowed. The blue glow on his gun turned red. "Deadly force authorized!"

"Well this is bad luck." John looked over his shoulder and gave Bruce another wink. "For _them_. Stand back, Mr. Wayne! Leave the fighting to vigilantes like me!"

Bruce would've protested. Everything inside of him was screaming to protect John from being hurt, to keep him from yet another situation like the bridge with Waller's people trying to kill him. Except Bruce couldn't stand without the support of a nearby dumpster and John -

\- John was making quick work of the agents, actually.

He didn't move as Bruce would have. Bruce could see John had no plan, reacting in the moment. But the batarang-like objects flew one after another, each hitting their mark as guns were knocked aside and agents fell to the ground clutching now-bleeding arms or legs.

Harrison dove through the chaos. He leveled his gun at Bruce in a clear headshot. Bruce wondered if he could move the dumpster between them when Harrison cried out in pain. He dropped to the ground with one of John's projectiles stuck into his back.

"Take _that_ , Agency scum!" John rushed towards Harrison, his face twisted with rage. He pulled a brightly decorated knife out of his pocket, twirling it before jabbing it in Harrison's direction.

Bruce caught John's wrist before the blade could connect. "No killing!"

John breathed heavily. He swallowed, blinking several times before his eyes focused on Bruce. "I - he was going to kill _you_!"

"Batman doesn't kill," Bruce said. " _Heroes_ don't kill."

"That doesn't make any - " John said, then stopped. He touched a fingertip to Bruce's lip, tracing the blood that fell from it. "You're hurt."

Bruce wanted to protest that it was nothing, but Harrison had managed to move away from them and turn on his communicator.

"I need backup at the Wayne situation, _now_!" he said.

John looked at Bruce with worry. "We should get out of here."

"I have a penthouse nearby," Bruce said, keeping his voice low so only John could hear. "We can hole up there."

"Can we get to it from the rooftops?" John asked. He grinned when Bruce gave him a _look_ in reply. "Right, forgot who I was talking to. All right then, Mr. Wayne, I hope you're not scared of heights!"

"I'll manage," Bruce said as John put an arm around his waist and grappled them both away.

 ###

The penthouse was for Bruce Wayne the playboy, or nights when Batman felt going home to the manor was too far. Bruce didn't use it often, but he was grateful for it as he and John entered from the balcony. The air inside was comfortably cool, and smelled of lemon and furniture polish. Bruce might not use the penthouse much, but Alfred made sure it was always at the ready.

"Sit," John said. He lead Bruce to the large leather couch which dominated the living room. "I'll get the first aid."

John made it all of a step before stopping. "Uh, where - "

"First doorway on the right," Bruce pointed. "Under the sink."

"Back in a jiff!" John told him. He darted down the hall.

Bruce took his phone out and texted Alfred and Tiffany to tell them he and John were all right. He was rewarded with Alfred telling him he'd found the car safe, parked outside the gates to the manor. Looked like Selina had done him a favor, or at least as much of one as she was able to under the circumstances.

Bruce put his phone and thoughts of anyone else to the side. He leaned back against the couch, trying to relax his aching muscles. He didn't know if he would've died in the moment before John showed up, but it was… different, to realize he didn't _have_ to know because someone had appeared to protect him.

"Found it!" John said as he came back into the room. He opened up the first aid kit and spread the contents over the leather ottoman which matched the couch. "Okay, cleaning and - bandages? Do you bandage a busted lip?"

"Hang on." Bruce caught John's hand and held it to keep him still. "This is my first time seeing your costume. Let me look at you."

"It's - uh - it's a first draft," John said. Bruce felt the nervous tension in John's fingers. "I mean I hope you like it, but I'm open to notes."

"Suits constantly evolve," Bruce said. He rubbed his thumb into John's palm to give him something to ground against. "I've got multiples in use at any given time."

John's lips curved in a smile. "I know."

Bruce took John in. He'd noticed the general outfit before. Now, without distractions, he could see the details. The coat had a scalloped edge, much like Bruce's cape. John's hair wasn't styled up into peaks, but into points which resembled bat ears. Pale makeup and surprisingly well applied lipstick was matched with black over his eyes and forehead, looking not unlike a cowl or mask. On the whole it had a sense of familiarity to it which made warmth pool in Bruce's belly.

"I was going for Batman, but _me_ ," John said.

"I can see that," Bruce replied. He touched the fabric of John's coat, noticing the happy faces in the pattern. "I like it."

"Yeah?" John's face lit up. "Really?"

"It's very you," Bruce said. He hooked his finger into the opening in John's vest beneath the one button which didn't match the others. "I do have some suggestions though."

"Hit me," John said. "I want all the benefit of Batman's experience if I'm gonna be the best vigilante I can be."

"Okay," Bruce said. He touched John's cheek. "The makeup is good. Very clever how you used white makeup as though to make yourself pale."

"Because I wouldn't _need_ makeup to be pale if I already _was_ pale!" John said, nodding eagerly. "It's the perfect secret identity disguise!"

"I'd recommend a mask, though." Bruce indicated the black makeup around John's eyes. "The look is nice, but masks cover and protect more. Plus Tiffany can put tech in there to help when we're on cases."

"Mask because you're overprotective," John said. "Got it."

Bruce smirked, not bothering to deny it if it meant John would be safer. "By the same logic I'd say gloves. Protects your hands, hides your fingerprints, and again they can have tech in them."

John held up his hands, turning them over. "Huh. Maybe purple to match the coat?"

"If you want," Bruce said. He looked up. "The hair… it's a lot of work, and it's noticeable. Green hair isn't exactly common."

"Okay." John thought about it. "What about some kind of hat?"

"That might help," Bruce agreed. He took in all of John's appearance again. "There's one more thing. The open shirt collar. It's a distraction."

John frowned. "To criminals?"

"No." Bruce leaned in and pressed a kiss to the bottom of John's neck. "To me."

Bruce was close enough to hear John's breath catch at the touch, which made even more warmth go through him. Bruce had never had this before. Someone who protected him without asking, who had his back without a word, and who was _there_ , _with_ him after the fact. Staying, in spite of all the danger. Wearing clothes that made his allegiance to Bruce and the mission so clear. It was… damn it, it was _nice_ in ways Bruce's life never got to be.

Or it was until John stopped him.

"Ah-ah-ah, Mr. Wayne," John said, holding a hand up to Bruce's mouth before their lips could connect. "I understand the impulse, but I'm afraid I already have a boyfriend."

Bruce lifted both eyebrows at John. "Oh do you now?"

"Of course." John grinned. "Batman."

"He's not sitting right in front of you?" Bruce asked.

"No, _Bruce Wayne_ is," John said. He tapped a thoughtful finger against his chin. "Come to think of it, aren't _you_ seeing John Doe?"

"I'm seeing you," Bruce told him.

John shook his head. "No, because I'm - "

Bruce grabbed John and hauled him into his lap. He kissed John hard, not caring if he got John's makeup on his face. He didn't let John pull back until they were both gasping for air.

"Oh," John said, still panting. He leaned his forehead against Bruce's. "Hey, Bats."

"You did good today," Bruce said. He moved his arms around John to keep him close. "I'm proud of you."

John replied with more kisses, each one firmer than the last until the slickness between them wasn't John's lipstick but Bruce's blood.

"Damn it!" John glared down at Bruce's mouth.

"It's fine," Bruce said. "I've had worse."

"They _hurt_ you." John caressed Bruce's cheek, then moved to brush his thumb underneath Bruce's swollen lip. Though his touch was gentle, his eyes glinted with fire. "They _marked_ you. They don't get to _do_ that!"

Something stirred in Bruce's gut. Something hot he'd normally never let himself give name to.

"Why don't you mark me instead?"

John's eyes locked on Bruce's. Bruce saw it, deep within: the same hunger and need that was supposed to be shut away as too much, a wish never granted. But John himself was a wish Bruce thought he'd never be granted and, well, _fuck it_. Bruce wanted it, he wanted him, and there needed to be nothing between them, no barrier at all. Pure trust, all the way down, including this.

"You're right," Bruce told him. He caught John's hand and brought it down to his chest, deliberately tracing over the bumps and scars from fights Bruce couldn't even remember having. "I don't _want_ their marks on me. They don't get to do that. Only you. You're the only one who can hurt me. The only one - "

Bruce was shut up by John's mouth, kissing him passionately and past the point where air was needed. Bruce didn't care. Kissing John made him dizzy to begin with and oxygen was overrated compared to John there, with him, and the two of them connected as though nothing could tear John away.

John paused, but only long enough to bite Bruce's lip, sending a shock of pain and the copper taste of blood through him. Bruce moaned, kissing John harder, murmuring, "Yes, _yes_." as John pressed close and began pulling off Bruce's clothes.

Once Bruce's chest was bared John sat back. He studied Bruce, his eyes and fingers lingering over every bruise, cut, and scar. John's expression was dark and determined. He found one of the spots where the Agency's electric shots had connected and traced it with his fingertips.

"Nobody but you," Bruce reminded him.

The gentle touch was replaced by a hard scratch as John raked his fingernails down Bruce's skin. He did it again and again, hitting every mark and sending tingling sparks  through Bruce's body whenever tender flesh was ripped anew. John's lips parted. They were swollen and red with makeup and blood and Bruce felt such desire for him he kissed John, grabbing him hard enough to leave bruises.

John squirmed. He parted their mouths enough to speak. "Only you, Bats. Nobody else."

It was only through years of training in self-control that Bruce was able to keep still through the white-hot burst of heat John's words sent through him. "Take those clothes off before I rip them."

They both stripped. Bruce without a care for what he was wearing, John with frenzied work at his buttons and buckles to get his costume off relatively unharmed. Bruce waited long enough for John to put the last piece of clothing aside before grabbing John and slamming him down onto the floor. There was a thick rug to soften the blow, but Bruce was past the point of caring. Any damage was just more marks left on the skin of the man who belonged to him.

Bruce added to this, biting and sucking at John's chest. John wasn't as physically damaged as Bruce was but Bruce focused on anything which vaguely looked like a mark or scar. He devoted attention to each spot, sinking his teeth in and pulling until John's skin was bright red and John laughed and rocked into him and said "Oh - oh yes - oh my darling Bats, _yes_ \- "

John returned the favor with his nails and mouth, frequently drawing blood as he opened wounds which weren't nearly old enough, and eliciting moans from Bruce as he pressed into bruises, _hard_ , with no doubt his touch was making them worse.

It felt _right_. Like something missing for far too long. For all of Bruce's life, maybe. But this, them, tangled together, with John pressing lube into Bruce's hand - "Gotta keep all kinds of useful stuff in the utility belt, right?" - and Bruce sinking all the way into John as far as he could go, and their bodies slick with sweat and saliva and drops of Bruce's blood that dripped down from his body onto John's pale chest and formed a pattern like a million dollar painting and -

\- and John kept laughing, arcing up into him, taking it all and giving back in return and saying, yelling, "Yes - yours - don't stop - _Bats_ \- " as Bruce kept thrusting, hard, wanting it to hurt as much as it felt good, wanting to see this man _split open_ underneath him, wanting to know he owned this man as much as he was owned by him, chasing that ache, that high, that _rightness_ that was the bond between them that moved past anything, past words or ration or understanding -

\- and as Bruce came, he shouted " _Joker_!" as though that explained everything.


	6. Author Mea Culpa

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Purely a note from yours truly, not a chapter.

Hi all,

I wanted to apologize for the long delay in updates. I've been dealing with health stuff for the past year and it took a fairly severe downswing last summer that I'm still trying to recover from.

It took me a while to come to this, but if I'm being honest I don't think I'll be able to finish this fic. I had the outline planned out and even started the next chapter, but my energy and heart's not in it. In addition to the health stuff, there's the end of Telltale. This fic was intended as my own little fix it for how I would've done the last episode of season 2. After so many people lost their jobs who then posted to social media about how they did their best (including trying to make it as gay as they were allowed to get away with) I feel like it's tacky on my part to claim I could do better. 

Thank you to everybody who's enjoyed the fic and sent encouragement for it to continue. I hope the chapters you've had were enjoyable enough. I appreciate your support and understanding. Pinky swear.

<3  
TBQ


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